prompt: you're not useless.


the fox

.

One day, he would kill Thorne, Jon knew it. And judging by the flush on his cheeks, the violent drumming of his heart against his ribs, his tightly clenched fists and the loud bang of the front door as he slammed it shut behind him, that day would come sooner rather than later.

Easy there, you just repaired the lock, Ygritte complained, shouting from the hidden corner around a crumbling brick wall that hid their kitchen from view. Music was blasting from the stereo, and Jon rolled his eyes, dumping his keys on the littered table by the door. He didn't recognize the song, and neither did he care for it now. The smell of cheese was spreading rapidly through the tiny flat they shared, but not even that could wipe the angry pout off Jon's face.

With her cheeks and ears tinted pink - a sight he might have thought adorable had he not been in such a tremendously foul mood - Ygritte stretched her head around the brick wall. What's the matter with you? she asked, licking the backside of a spoon, covered in molten cheese. Oddly enough, especially compared with Jon's foul mood, she seemed rather cheerful.

Thorne got elected again, Jon mumbled, pushing off his coat and dumping it on the back of the leather sofa. He wondered briefly if the ugly fox shaped cushion was a new addition to the rapidly growing number of them that made it harder and harder for him to actually find a proper place to sit, but the thought only lasted a second before it was wiped away by the anger of today's events once more.

The third time. Thorne had been elected for the third time, and this time, Jon was not going to stand by and do nothing.

Oh, Ygritte sighed, briefly disappearing behind the brick wall before re-emerging, wiping her hands on her jeans. Jon did not look at her until her strangely warm fingers found his cheek and gently, but with determination, pulled his head towards her. I'm sorry. Her lips found his for a fleeting moment, the gentle touch almost enough to extinguish the rage burning inside of him. Almost.

He's going to hate me even more now that I went up against him, he sighed, running his hand through his hair. For the last two years, he had chewed on the idea of putting himself up for the election. The prospect of being Lord Commander frightened him more than anything, but he knew he did not want to go on patrol for the rest of his life, and there was no one in the entire Night's Watch as undeserving of the post as Alliser Thorne.

You can't all take his shit, Ygritte said, pulling him down onto the sofa. Someone needs to stand up to him, and that might as well be you.

He still won. Candles were flickering on the coffee table, a pile of magazines dumped on a stack of book he had put there the night before. They should probably tidy up the place - it felt as messy as his life, and Jon could hardly fight the urge to smash something against the wall. It might help, but it was hardly fair. Ygritte had only ever supported him, even if the promotion meant longer hours and even less time they could spend together.

Yeah, I'm sure it's because lots of people actually voted for him, she replied with raised eyebrows, and Jon knew they were thinking the same. Thorne might not be entirely unqualified, but his manners and character had not lead to the making of many friends or admirers. The fact that he had held the post since Commander Mormont's death was a riddle Jon was all too eager to solve.

He groaned, throwing his hands in the air as he sank back into the ridiculous pile of cushions. He felt a crocheted flower digging into his back. I'm such a useless pile of shit.

Jon did not curse often, and Ygritte's blue eyes widened a little bit at his words. What are you going on about now? she asked, folding her legs beneath her, fingers toying with the ears of the fox shaped cushion Jon had noticed earlier. He now was pretty sure it was new - they were going to have to talk about that at some point.

I can't even make it to Lord Commander, he sighed, staring at the coffee stain on his jeans. Not even against a man like Alliser Thorne. Nobody likes him, he's a terrible person, he shouldn't have the post.

For a few seconds, Ygritte remained quiet. The music still blared a little too loudly in the small space, and the heat of the late summer combined with that of the cooking made the room almost unbearably stuffy. Eventually, she reached out her hand to grasp his. Even through he scar tissue, he felt her soft and reassuring touch, the circles that her thumb drew into his skin. Are we still talking about the fact that Thorne won the election - and we both know that wasn't a fair election, the guy's dirty - or the fact that you lost?

He thought about the brief notion of becoming Lord Commander. Of being in charge. Thoughts of Robb rushed through his mind, too. Head of the family company after their father's death, rich, influential, respected, successful. He thought of Sansa and her marriage to one of the richest man in the country, of her charities. He thought of Arya and her studies abroad, of Bran who made the most of all his misfortunes. Even Rickon, fighting to make a name for himself in the shadows cast by all his older siblings. And here he was, the bastard, the son nobody ever talked about. I don't know.

Suddenly, Ygritte was a lot closer to him than he had thought, and when her lips pressed quite urgently against his, hands grasping his face only to sink into his hair, it knocked the breath out of him. Her fingers cleverly sifted through the hair at the base of his skull, tongue teasing his lips before slipping between them, and she was pressed against him, crawling into his lap, until nothing remained between them. You're not useless, Jon, she whispered breathlessly when they parted, and Jon could feel her lips move against his as they formed the words, felt her warm breath against his raw skin.

I feel like it, he whispered, voice just as husky, his hands digging into her hips. The weight of his disappointment in himself wore him down a lot more than he had anticipated, even more than the anger and frustration. But Ygritte seemed determined to share the burden, nudging her nose against his, lips dropping a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Not to me. Not to anyone who matters. She kissed his other cheek. Do you think macaroni cheese will make it better? she asked with a smile so wide it was contagious, but Jon still fought it, allowing his hands to roam over her back, but avoiding the determined excitement in her eyes.

Not really, he muttered, but already he felt the darkness pass. His eyebrows disappeared beneath the wild curls of hair that fell into his face when Ygritte trailed her lips from his cheek down towards his neck, nothing chaste about the way her lips sucked at his skin any more. The heat that cursed through his veins was instant, and without truly registering it, his fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Ygritte's shirt, cherishing the feeling of her soft skin, and the goosebumps left in the wake of his touch.

Then maybe this will, she chuckled deviously, her hands disappearing between them to unbuckle his belt, and Jon could not fight the grin any more when he flipped them over, pressing her into the sofa. Ygritte shrieked and they sent a few cushions flying down onto the floor, but neither of them cared when their clothes soon followed, and it wasn't until the smell of burnt cheese flooded the room that they broke apart.

Ygritte wrapped her arms around her knees, laughing loudly as she watched Jon running to the kitchen - butt-naked and cursing under his breath.

What a miserable day it had been, but it ended with a long string of smiles, and most importantly, he finally felt like he was enough. Even thought they had to order pizza in the end.